The Red in Her Ledger
by blue-eyed-bird
Summary: There was a time when Natasha Romanoff could call herself 'innocent' in terms of bloodshed. Her first kills were her most horrifying and from that moment onwards, she's never gotten used to seeing someone's life leave their body. But there's someone who understands, someone who knows how it feels: Clint Barton. WARNING: Death, bloodshed and murder. Pre-Avengers.
1. Fire

**Chapter One: Fire**

_Russia, The Younger Years of Romanoff_

For the most of her childhood, Natasha had always encountered dealings within the Soviet Spy Unit. Her family were situated so close to its central headquarters, it was to be expected that they'd come to know about it at some point or another.

At first, the Romanoff family buried the knowledge of the Spy Camp under plain ignorance as they went about their everyday lives. Natasha was little more than an infant of almost seven at the time, completely oblivious to the secrecies within the society she lived in.

As time wore on, the Romanoffs became more aware of the Spy Unit little more than half a mile from their small, Russian manor house. They began to talk and ask questions. They spoke of it in casual conversation, to people whom shouldn't have known of the secret organisation. Of course, it was only by chance that the Romanoff family ever _did _come to learn about the camp. Why ever would a powerful encampment allow a generic family of three live so close to its principal base? It was in fact Natasha's uncle, Maxim, who had made it possible for the family to live there at all. Maxim, a highly respected Soviet Spy himself, had persuaded the director of the spy group to allow the Romanoffs the privilege of residing in the manor house - as it was closer to other family and the easiest option in terms of money. Maxim's request was approved but as long as he kept to his end of the bargain: The Romanoffs could only live there for a maximum two years and if they ever found out about the unit, Maxim would have to face the consequences.

However, once the rumours began to flow, they would not stop - Maxim was cautioned, his job was on the line. As things grew worse, he was forced to alert the Romanoffs of the truth and make sure all gossip ceased at once. The Romanoffs did not take the truth lightly, though. Accusing him of lies and treachery, they disowned him.

Eventually, it came to the point where Maxim was demoted to one of the lowest posts within the spy force; most titles and statuses he had gained throughout his many years as a spy were stripped from him – he was warned time and time over that would the talk of the unit grow louder, he would be forced to alter his identity and leave all remnants of his past life behind.

But the situation heightened at an alarming rate, to the point where the Romanoffs were writing threatening letters to the director of the Spy Camp. Mere weeks later, the Romanoffs received their first reply. Although it was not what they had expected:

"_Mr and Mrs Romanoff,_

_Due to a number of circumstances concerning the security and secrecy of our encampment being severely compromised, we have had to take serious action. Your blood relative, Maxim Stanislov, had agreed to take responsibility for any mishaps caused either directly or indirectly by yourselves on the terms that we allowed you to take up residence within the manor house, which is situated on the outskirts of our unit._

_At a cause of your ongoing threats and endless gossip regarding the encampment, we have decided to take the matter upon ourselves._

_Please understand that we do not take kindly to people who take pleasure in causing havoc for our organisation and as a result, we had Maxim Stanislovs executed last night at 11 p.m._

_An agent will be visiting you shortly with a payment that we hope will amend any ill feelings between our Unit and yourselves._

_Thank you for your troubles._

_Luka Marko, Director of The 117 Soviet Spy Unit."_

The Romanoffs, incredibly shocked at the extensive precautions the Soviet Spy Unit had taken, sealed their gossiping mouths for the meantime. They were rewarded with a windfall of money, which kept them quiet and happy at the same time – not only that, but they were granted to stay at the manor house for as long as they pleased. The only price they had to pay was giving up their daughter to the unit with the intention of training her into what would be one of the world's greatest spies.

**XXX**

_10 years later: Soviet Spy Unit 117, St Petersburg, Russia_

"Natasha Romanoff," Luka Marko, Head of The Soviet Spy Organisation in St Petersburg, said – just as he did at the beginning of every other briefing Natasha had sat in on. Only on this occasion, he wasn't about to ask her to observe; this time, _she_ would be the one carrying out the mission he was about to assign.

"Sir," Romanoff replied, eagerly waiting for her first genuine assignment, after having been training for so long to become the assassin she'd always dreamed she'd be.

Luka's office was a large and spacious room, with little decoration or furniture - excluding the chair he was occupying and the dark mahogany desk he was sitting at. Bright, artificial light shone down from within the ceiling panels, illuminating every nook and cranny located within the office.

"Are you prepared for your very first mission; your very first kill, Agent Romanoff?" Luka asked, a knowing smile crawling up his tanned cheeks; his green eyes not quite joining in, making his friendly act seem fake.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, "Ten years of training seems to think so."

Marko gave a quick, curt nod of the head before continuing, getting straight to the point. "Your targets are a middle-aged couple. Not too difficult for a first assignment. They've been trying to shut us down for years. We need you to stop them. And by 'stop', I mean _silence_ them. Completely." Luka's voice mimicked that of a snake's; quiet and full of venom as he lingered on every _S_.

Natasha was deep in concentration, listening to each word Luka Marko had to say – drinking in every detail she could. She did not want to make a single mistake during her first operation.

"They'll be located in a small, deserted building a few hundred yards south of St Isaac's Cathedral – tonight, just before midnight. A selection of our Agents will have secured them within; you just have to finish them off. Understand?" Marko's cold, green eyes pierced into Natasha's, prompting for a response.

"Yes, Sir." She replied. "Are there any specific requirements for this particular assignment, Sir?"

Luka Marko paused for a second before speaking, "Only that you wear the appropriate attire...Oh, and _fire." _

Fire? What did he mean by that? Natasha voiced her question, "Fire, Sir?"

The director nodded, "Yes, Agent Romanoff, you are to burn the place clean to the ground - with the targets _still inside_." He put emphasis on the words, trying to make it as clear as possible. "Let nothing and no person stop you from succeeding in this mission. Are we clear?" The look Marko wore was stern, almost menacing and Natasha could virtually feel Marko's gaze cut through her like a poison-tainted knife. The director of Unit 117 certainly did not have a reputation in being nice to his working agents.

"Clear." Romanoff stated, before leaving the office and retreating to her allocated private room within the Spy Unit, digesting every piece of information she had been given.

She imagined the fiery orange of the flames that would teasingly lap at her targets' skin – burning and singeing them both until they were burnt to a crisp. She smiled sinisterly at the thought.

**XXX**


	2. The Burning Pain of Love and Loss

**Chapter Two: The Burning Heat of Love and Loss**

Natasha gazed at herself in the mirror – she looked relatively inconspicuous, apart from the grip of her gun protruding from the opening of her right boot. Her vibrant red hair hung in tights curls at shoulder length, framing her face with a wash of crimson. On first glance, you wouldn't suspect her to have the status of the spy she'd been training to be for the past ten years. She looked normal; young, tall, slender and a girl of much beauty. It would have never even crossed your mind that she'd been taught tirelessly, day and night, for most of her late childhood, on how to be the most ruthless of killers.

Natasha had never known the ins and outs of what had occurred when her parents had seemingly handed her over to the Soviet Spy Unit at only seven years of age, allowing her only to see them on special occasions and little more than ten times a year. She missed them dearly - but for all she knew, they'd grown tired of her and had handed her over to the Unit with little more than a second thought. Of course, that was not the case and the circumstances had been very different. Natasha loved them as much as any child loved their parents; she only wished that she'd lived a different childhood, rather than the one that had put her in front of the mirror she was currently standing before, readying herself for her very first assignment.

**XXX**

_The Small Deserted Building, South of St Isaac's Cathedral, St Petersburg, Russia_

The night air was as cold as death; ironically foreboding. St Petersburg was dusted in a thin layering of sugar-white snow. A wintry scene of delight.

Romanoff approached the lone, deserted building with caution. A black hood concealed her face from any passersby – not that there _were_ any in the middle of the night, but people were known to pry if something seemed amiss. Especially if someone were to witness a single house being burnt to a crisp, with two bodies following suit.

The edifice before the young assassin was bereft of any noticeable life, although Natasha knew otherwise. Inside, there would be two people awaiting their deaths, which were to be delivered at Romanoff's hands.

The large windows were concealed by wooden planks and those that were not, were hidden behind a thick mask of dust. Cracks lined the structuring of the building, here – there –everywhere. In truth, the abandoned house was not in good shape. It stuck out among the beautiful, Russian buildings of St Petersburg and Natasha thought it to be a favour to the people of the city, if she were to rid them of its ugly presence.

Romanoff's posture was hunched as she quickly carried herself to the rear side of the building. Luka had informed her that she would be able to enter, unnoticed, through an opening round the back. Natasha scanned the structuring in front of her; the only entrance was located on the top floor – one level above ground.

Diverting her attention from the building and to the belt around her waist, she sought out her grappling hook. Once in hand, she simply aimed at the opening in the wall and swung.

**XXX**

The interior was as dark as the night sky – the smell of gasoline penetrating the air; waiting for the flame of Romanoff's match to light it. But first, Natasha wanted to see the expressions on the faces of her victims before she killed them.

_Calm. _Natasha reminded herself. _Calm it, Romanoff. Don't let ten years of training go to waste. _She could feel the adrenaline rush throughout her veins and her heart pound violently against her chest. She'd never truly killed before, but training had seen that she'd know how to. _Clean, quick and precise. _It was a mantra she'd adopted during the many stages of her life as the apprentice of Luka Marko. He'd dubbed her to be the best spy the world would ever encounter. She just had to prove it to be true, now.

Her breathing was ragged, betraying her conflicting emotions. _Did she want to kill? Did she want to do this? _She'd been taught how to murder someone for ten consecutive years of her life; of course she could kill - of course she could do this. But did she want to? _No. _A small voice in her head told her, but she moved it to the back of her mind. She _needed _to prove herself worthy of the past decade.

She found herself walking along a balcony within the building. It followed the perimeter of the room but besides that, there was no other flooring. She could look over the railing of the balcony and see the ground floor mere metres below her. Two people, bound together by rope, sat gagged and masked in the centre of the floor below. _Her targets._ Silenced by her stealth, she lowered herself from the balcony railing and dropped to the floor below - the smell of petroleum sharp in her nose.

Cautiously, she approached the couple in front of her. "I assume that although you are bounded, gagged and masked, that you can hear me." She said, without any hint of emotion or feeling, noticing both of the captives flinch at her voice. Strange. "Just know, death is closing in on you and I'm here to make sure it doesn't fail its task." She knelt before the female figure of the two and with little effort, she tugged off her mask.

Every fibre in Natasha's body tensed. She didn't understand. She didn't move. She just tried to comprehend the meaning of what was going on and why her mother sat before her, bound and gagged, ready for death.

"Ma," She whispered so quietly that the sound was almost inaudible.

Without hesitation, she unmasked the other hostage, revealing it to be her father.

She felt her body shake with confusion. _Why?! _She felt like the scared and frightened child ten years ago, who had been handed over to some unfamiliar organisation, in the hope that she'd be trained into one of the world's most remarkable agents. Her body quivered with fear, tears lining her eyes as she removed the gags from her parents' mouths.

"Tasha," Her mother breathed deeply, her voice quaking. "Oh, God."

Her mother, tied into a position that rendered her useless, was at the most vulnerable Natasha had ever seen; her father no different.

"Tasha, set us free." Her father commanded, squirming at his restraint.

She didn't understand - why should her mother and father, out of all the people in St Petersburg, be her first kills? It wasn't right. They didn't deserve death. "Pa, Ma, I was sent here to kill you I...I –"

"Indeed she was." Came the familiar voice, as Luka Marko entered into the room, through the front entrance of the building – a wicked smile playing across his lips.

In an instant, Natasha was on her feet ready to launch at her once trusted mentor.

"Nah ah," The threat was as deeply woven into his voice as it was clear in the palm of Marko's hand; a lighter, ready to seal the deaths of both Natasha's parents and herself, if she was foolish enough to try and free them from the burning mess that would be the building they were currently in. "I don't think you'd want to do that, now, do you, Romanoff? I have the upper hand, here, Agent." He belittled her.

Natasha's face was contorted in anger, her voice lined thick with bile. "You evil, malicious, immoral son of a-"

"Are we not all 'evil' in this profession, Natasha? After all, you were prepared to _kill_ tonight, weren't you?" Luca cut her off, the smile not yet leaving his face.

"But my _parents?!_ I was prepared to kill, but not this - not them!" She was screaming at the top of her lungs now; if she could not attack with brute force, she would attack with words.

Marko let a knowing laugh leave his lips and resonate throughout the room, "Oh, but how else were we to train you into what would be the most cunning, skilful agent this ignorant little planet has ever seen? How else would you have been able to let go of your family and move on to greater achievements?"

A silence settled around them and the young assassin did not care to reply.

The smirk upon Luca's face grew even wider, "You see? This way it would have been simpler..._easier_ for you. The feelings we have for our loved ones are but a hindrance to ourselves. It is a children's fairytale per se. Not one we'd risk on what could potentially be our greatest asset, hm? We hoped you wouldn't hesitate in killing them, but...you decided to disappoint." His tone was softer now, as if willing Romanoff to understand his reasons, but it did not lack the condescending quality he always made use of.

"My parents are _innocent_." She retorted through gritted teeth. "They've done nothing – _nothing _to deserve this!" She stayed still, trying not to provoke Marko, into flicking the lighter on, in any form of movement or advancement.

Luca Marko shook his head in dismay. "Oh, Agent Romanoff, but haven't they?" He questioned. "Why do you think they gave you up to _us? _Do you really think that they just decided, all those years ago, that they didn't want you anymore? No, _oh_ _no_." Cruelty tinted his voice, now. Thick and rich and merciless. "They found out about us and they _talked, _Romanoff. Why else do you think your precious uncle happened to just one day _die_? He bore the consequences of your parents' mistakes. And now they must die, too." With one last wicked smile, he let the lighter do its magic and the whole place began to burn under bright orange flames.

But before Luca Marko could escape, an arrow flew out of nowhere and met his heart, rendering him lifeless and cold in death. His body was burning on the ground with nothing but bloodcurdling screams seeing him off to the afterlife.

Natasha, in that instant, was frozen with fear - no knowing what to do in such a situation. She wouldn't have time to free her parents and deliver them both to safety. She could run and leave them behind to burn to their deaths, but her heart clenched at the thought. The only thing she could bring herself to do, was turn and stare at the man with the bow in his hand, standing up on the balcony of the floor above, looking down at her with a cryptic look etched into the lines in his face. His lips moved suddenly and the only thing Natasha could make out from what he had said was the word "_run_".


	3. A Lapse in Duty

**Chapter Three: A Lapse in Duty**

_S.H.I.E.L.D HQ, Fury's office_

Nick Fury's main office was rarely occupied by guests, or even himself. In all honesty, it was hardly used at all. The dusty, stale smell within the air betrayed the room to its usual vacant state. However, today seemed to see a change from normality and both Director Fury and Agent Barton stood within the room's confinements, shouting angrily at each other.

"And you think it was fine enough to leave her to _get away_?! Barton, we sent you on this mission because we had faith that you'd complete it with little mess to clear up afterwards." Fury shook his head in dismay. "You let the Soviet's biggest weapon _slip from your fingers_!"

"With all due respect, Director Fury, I wasn't aware that she would be there." Clint piped up, finding his voice amidst the endless stream of reprimands Nick Fury was handing out. "My target was Marco, not the woman." He said in his defence.

Fury met Barton's gaze, his eyes were full of disbelief. "You should have improvised! You should have known how much this would cost us! Agent Barton, do you know what she could do now that she's loose?"

The question was rhetorical, but Clint answered anyway. "She'll probably be mourning her parents' deaths. Marko was not the only one who died in that house, in case you were unaware." Barton turned on his heels, ready to exit the Director's office and turn in for the night. But he stopped in his tracks, turning his head over his shoulder, "And, Director Fury, I think you'll be _delighted _to know that I did not let her 'slip from my fingers'. I let her go. It was no mistake, hear me that." In mere strides, he left the Director to his office - livid and weary. He knew that tomorrow wouldn't bring any relief from Fury's negativity.

**XXX**

_Agent Barton's Quarters, S.H.I.E.L.D HQ_

The night was restless and came with lack of sleep; any sleep that did briefly manage to consume the Hawkeye was full of taunting dreams. But that was natural for an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D; mercilessly killing people was not an easy or consequence-free task. There would be nights when targets of his, now long dead, would visit him in his sleep, or moments of intense pain that he'd had to endure in the past would come back to remind him just how much of a challenging job his status of work was.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, Clint's dreams were overwhelmed with a young woman's face. Her hair as red as flames; eyes as green as envy, staring into Barton's soul; skin translucently pale- ghostly:

_Fire began to eat up at the woman's features, much like the fire that had consumed the woman's parents and Luca Marko's bodies. The flesh of her face began to welt – blistering at the growing heat. Pink, raw skin began to replace the white of her body. Tears of blood seeped from the sockets of her eyes. Her hair, frazzled in the heat, came away with alarming ease from her scalp. Skin fell from the structuring of her bones, the blood within her now shallow cheeks dissolved away into the air within seconds. She did not move nor struggle, though. She endured it as if it were a mere autumn's breeze. But it was ferocious. Lethal, deathly. It clawed at her, scraping every last fibre from her bones as they, too, crumbled into dust. And then the scream came, so frightfully deafening and full of an infinite sorrow. _

With a jerk, Barton woke in his bed chamber, his bare chest covered in sweat. His breathing was short, sharp and insistent; his eyes wide with an unfathomable fear. With a large intake of breath, he steadied his trembling and gained control of his body's reaction. "Damn it!" He shouted at himself in frustration.

"Agent Barton?" A voice sounded and at the door to his room stood Agent Hill. "Are you ok?" She was Second in Command at S.H.I.E.L.D and relatively new to the post and, therefore, found it hard to refrain from being overly personal with the S.H.I.E.L.D workers. This was obviously one of those times.

Clint turned his attention to Maria, feeling dazed and worn from lack of peaceful sleep. "Yes, Agent Hill. I'm fine." He would not admit to the nightmare he had had, whether or not the young commander had heard his struggles whilst dreaming.

Agent Hill nodded, suddenly remembering the purpose of being within the Hawkeye's room. "Fury sent me." She explained. "He wants you to know that the lapse in duty you've made will have to be accounted for, do you understand?"

Barton felt the remnants of his fiery dream fuel the heated rage that began to boil within him. "The girl is barely of age! She was distraught! Her parents _died _right in front of her, Agent Hill. She will be in no fit mental state in order to cause harm to us. _Leave it_." His voice was hostile.

Agent Hill nodded in patience and understanding, but continued with what she had to say. "Even so, the Soviet Spy Units have become corrupt. If she were to return to Unit 117, we could have a lot to answer for." She paused. "Agent Barton, Director Fury wants you back in Russia by nightfall. You're to hunt her down by any means. Are we clear?" Her words were firm but a slight tint of empathy filled her voice.

A silence settled around the two agents, as the information Agent Hill had reeled off sunk in. Clint's features were contorted with a muted rage, as he contemplated his given task. It seemed like year before he conjured the words he then spoke, "I'll go, but I'm not promising anything."

**XXX**

_The Manor House, St Petersburg, Russia_

Private papers were sprawled across every inch of every room, draws hung out of their chests and the whole of the Romanoff's manor house looked incredibly dishevelled – alarmingly contrasting to its usual neatness. The source of the mayhem lay at the hands of a rather aggravated Natasha Romanoff.

Her thoughts were unorganised, choppy and manic within her mind. Images of her dying parents kept reappearing behind shut eyelids, with every moment she closed her eyes. She found it hard to focus; hard to stop any tears that dared to fall. But she had a mission of her own now. _Vengeance._ It was the only thing to fill her head. The only thing that kept her going.

Natasha filed through endless amounts of documents - financial, work-related, letters to and from family members. None of which had anything remotely to do with what she was looking for. Her fingers moved at such a fast pace – picking out files and routinely throwing them into the centre of the room. Her anger encouraged her to continue – anger for Marko, anger for the man with the bow who stood by and did nothing. _Her parents could have been saved! _In sudden frenzy, Natasha ceased what she was doing, grabbed the nearest object, and swung it wildly into the air. It went flying through the study window, shattering the pane of glass completely.

"_ARGH!" _Her hands came down on the sill, where the glass of the window used to sit. The palms of her hands dug into what little shards of glass were left, cutting into her skin. She did not flinch. She felt no pain other than that of which was caused by her conflicting emotions. "Ma...Pa..." She whimpered, bringing her bleeding hands up to her face, trying to shield the tears that trickled down her flushed cheeks. "Where are you? I _need_ you..." As she closed her eyes against the tears, she could see the memory of her gun – in _her_ hands – releasing the bullets that killed both her mother and father. "_No!"_ She crumpled to the floor below her, wracked with anguish.

It was only when she opened her eyes did she see the letter on the floor beside her. She had found what she'd been looking for; a letter, addressed to her parents, concerning her uncle Maxim's death and the need for the Romanoffs to give up their only child to the Soviets...signed, _Luca Marko._

It was all the proof she needed. She now knew that her parents had never given her up on their own accord. No, it was something much more serious than that.

As a violent passion led her to crumple the letter within her palm, she forced herself to think clearly. She had a plan. It wasn't the most structured of plans, but it was something and as she grabbed the matches from her resource belt, burning the letter into nothing but ashes, she swore that she would kill _every - single - one_ of the Soviet Spies. They would pay for the damage they had done.


	4. Widow Bites

**Chapter Four: Widow Bites**

_Inside Spy Unit 117, St Petersburg, Russia_

Numerous bodies lay slumped, lifeless, against the walls of Unit 117. Some were bloodied; others lay still, clean, peaceful – as if sleeping. All of them had been victim to the angry storm that was Agent Romanoff. The Soviets were her next target, now. After all they'd done – they'd taken an innocent child and fashioned her into a weapon; something deadly and sinister – they were going to pay for _everything_.

Her fingers moved rapidly across the keys – hacking, infiltrating the computer system – looking for the information she so desperately wanted. "Where is it?!" The words came through gritted teeth, as she searched, file after file, for the knowledge she required.

Finally. "_The Romanoff Project" _it was entitled. The file held every smidgen of data regarding all matters that had ever concerned her parents, as well as those of the Soviets whom worked on the matter and a complete file on Natasha Romanoff herself.

A sinking feeling took root in her stomach with a forceful hastiness as she scanned the document under her name. After years of living as a part of the Soviet facility, she knew barely anything. So many secrets had been kept from her – as if trying to protect a child. There were even some details about herself that she did not yet know.

_Natasha Romanoff.  
Initial age at start of training: 7 years.  
Mentor: Luca Marko  
Department: X  
Background: Romanoff was taken in as part of the Black Widow project and was trained within the Red Room facility. Her level of training has seen her become a most valuable asset to The Soviets and one of their most lethal weapons. Her identity is known only to a small selection of people.  
A master of several martial arts, Romanoff has excelled in all areas of training. Professor Azarov, a doctor of science, was assigned to study Agent Romanoff and produce a suitable piece of equipment to aid her in her future missions. It was confirmed this piece of equipment was to be named after the project she was first initiated into: Widow Bites. These were to be strapped to her wrists, as a weapon, each bracelet containing 30,000 volts of charge. It was agreed that the Widow Bites would first be used to kill her first targets: her parents – long time enemies of the Soviet Spy Unit.  
Code Name: Oружие (The Weapon)_

Natasha, controlling her emotions, made no reaction to the sudden overwhelming amount of new facts. She simply printed all files concerning herself and her family. Then, with one simple click, she erased every article with any association to herself. In that simple moment, she'd made herself nameless to the Spy Unit. She had become _nothing._

Retreating from the computer, she retrieved her gun from her pocket and raised it – aiming at the CPU. Finger on trigger, ready to fire. All she had to do was squeeze.

"I'm sorry, Agent Romanoff. I can't let you do that." The man stood, unarmed, in the doorway to the room, a few metres in front of her. His hair was brown, short and his face looked kind and compassionate. He did not look at all familiar to Natasha.

"I'll do as I please," She addressed the man; pulling down on the trigger and watching the bullet penetrate the computer. "Now, if you don't mind, there are places I need to be." She repositioned the gun so that it was aimed at the man before her.

He did not flinch nor respond to the fact that there was a piece of lethal weaponry pointed straight at him - in fact he was unbelievably calm. "Professor Azarov is at the hospital, Agent Romanoff, we-"

"I know." Natasha cut him off. "It's all here." She subsequently picked up the files she had printed and waved them in the air for the stranger to see. "And I'm no longer an _agent_, sir. I no longer associate myself with the Soviets. I am a woman of my own and _I'll do as I please." _She marched towards the exit, not caring whether this man of no identity stood in her way or not.

"I'm no Soviet, either." He spoke up. "In fact, we have a common enemy, Miss Romanoff." He smiled knowingly.

She stopped for a moment, lowered her gun and returned the smile – only her eyes were full of menace. "That's all very nice, I'm sure – but I have a mission of my own to fulfil." A shot to the floor, a mere foot or so in front of the stranger, caused him to step backward a few paces at the unexpected fire. "I don't wish anyone to get in my way. So, if you please, I have a hospital to go to and a patient to visit. This spider wants her Widow Bites." Natasha pushed pass and started down the hallway, heading for the vehicle department.

"Spider, Miss Romanoff?" The man called after her.

Without turning she replied, "I am the Black Widow; trained assassin and the would-have-been most lethal weapon of the Soviet Spies, but the tables have turned and I work for no one but myself, now. Just know this, my unnamed sir: you'll do well to avoid my bite." The smile was evident in her voice and as she raised her gun at an oncoming Soviet, you could hear the laughter that followed - even over the resonating ring of the bullet that was now buried deep within the Soviet's head.

Even after Romanoff was well out of earshot, the nameless man whispered into the dark corridors of Unit 117, "Maybe so, _Black Widow_, but S.H.I.E.L.D are more than capable of biting back."


End file.
